Devouring Happy Thoughts
by RuJa4EVA
Summary: A Very Potter Musical Fanfic After being blamed on the death of Cedric Diggory, Quirrell is sentenced to go to Azkaban. Here, we uncover what the play didn't; the time Quirrell was left in his prison cell. Quirrelmort. Smut.
1. Lies

**My first HP fan fiction! Yay! I have read all the books as well as seen all the movies. However, I loved Quirrell so much in A Very Potter Musical that I had to write something. I'll soon be writing a Snarry fanfic, as well as other fanfics without OC's. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: All the money in the world can't by the HP series. I know, I've tried. I don't own the musical or the series.**

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Quirrell sighed heavily as the dementors began leading him, as well as a number of other prisoners, into their new rooms in Azkaban. It was no use in protesting, he knew, he'd already shouted every protest until he almost lost his voice – and his sanity.

"_It's not me! I swear! Please, just listen to me! Voldemort killed Cedric, just watch his Flootube videos! I'm innocent!!! Ask him, he'll vouch for me-" _By that point, however, he'd gone silent, remembering that his old friend had betrayed him, and that Voldemort would never try to help him anymore.

Looking around at his new residence, he attempted to remember the journey here. His feet ached, although he wasn't sure why. Wasn't Azkaban located somewhere in the North Sea? So they should have taken a boat here, yet he didn't remember a ride in one. In fact, he didn't recall anything about coming here!

Considering that he would probably never see the outer world again, Quirrell craned his neck to try to get on last look, one last memory of what it was like on the outside before being plunged into a world of darkness. The only thing he could see was a swirl of mist, and the hint of what might be a gravestone. Yes, that must be right. He'd heard the stories, including the one about Azkaban having a large graveyard just outside its wall. He shuddered, recalling the other stories about prisoners going insane and starving themselves, preferring death to the life of a depressed inmate.

But maybe the stories weren't true. After all, the dementors weren't nearly as nasty as everyone described. Sure, they _looked _horrid, with their dark cloaks and no face (other than their mouth). Yet everyone said they can't talk, nor hold any kind of compassion, which Quirrell could already see was untrue, just walking to his cell. Just because someone sucks out your happy memories doesn't mean they can't be nice. _Honestly, _what was this world coming to? "Everyone is full of lies." Quirrell thought bitterly.

Nevertheless, Quirrell could tell this was not a fun place to stay. A lot of prisoners looked malnourished and pale. Some were totally silent, others babbled on to themselves in mutterings, and a few were screaming nonsense at the top of their lungs, though their words seemed to disappear into the fog.

They looked pathetic and disgusting, totally insane. And he would be like them soon, within a few weeks, wouldn't he? Was this all his world had come to? Serving out a sentence for a crime he never committed, a sentence that belonged to someone else, his best friend? He clenched his fist. No, he mustn't think of Voldem-of "He Who Must Not Be Named" that way anymore. No longer would he call him by his really name, nor address him as the Dark lord. He was no longer Quirrell's lord.

…but he was still his friend. He couldn't break their friendship, despite all Quirrell'd been put through.

The sound of a strange voice snapped Quirrell from his thoughts. The group of criminals had stopped moving, and they were all looking at a dementor, who was explaining different things about the prison.

"The door on your left leads to a prison cell. The door to your right leads to another prison cells. The door behind me leads to a hallway, which will eventually take you to another prison cell. _That _door" He gestured the way they'd come, through the entrance. "Leads to a kiss from one of us."

Quirrell trembled with the other prisoners. No one, no matter how brave or suicidal they were, _ever _wanted a dementor's kiss. Death was one thing, having your soul sucked from your body was much, much worse.

A creepy looking guy with few teeth and very little gray hair that stood behind Quirrell suddenly sniggered. "Didn't know Dementors swung that way." He cackled quietly. Quirrell stepped away from him, wrinkling his nose at the guy's stench.

"Now, every few millenniums someone will get a visitor. On the rare occasion where that may happen…" The dementor's mouth turned into what may have been a sneer. Or maybe he was just smiling. It was hard to tell without his eyes. "Anyone who attacks them purposely or accidentally will also receive a kiss."

Quirrell could hear the same guy laughing. The dementor ignored him, obviously thinking the man wouldn't be laughing later.

"Finally, someone from the Ministry of Magic always checks in every month or so. Should they or anyone accompanying them be injured, you will receive the kiss. Any questions?"

A hand slowly made its way up in the air. Everyone turned to look at Quirrell, who was the only one "brave" enough to ask one. He wasn't brave; he just didn't care for fear anymore.

"Yeess?" The dementor said, slightly surprised that anyone here had any guts.

"Who comes from the Ministry of Magic?" Quirrell said, wondering if he could be able to persuade them that he was innocent.

"Does it matter?" The cloaked figure said bored and disappointed that his question wasn't more interesting.

Clenching his teeth and sick of being treated like dirt, Quirrell's hand stayed up, and he answered without being called on. "Well, for example, does the Minister ever come?"

Barking a cold, dead laugh the dementor had to calm himself to a chuckle before responding. "Why would the Minister bother himself with criminals too dumb to escape capture?"

Quirrell grimaced. It seemed like wherever he went, it was impossible to escape the cruel and heartless. Once again, he'd thought something nasty could be kind. And once again, he was proven wrong.

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I'd love if you would review :D I'll be writing more chapters soon!


	2. A Fool And His Memories

**Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. I love writing these :D**

**Disclaimer: All the money in the world can't by the HP series. I know, I've tried. I don't own the musical or the series.**

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At home, the sun shining in his face would normally wake Quirrell up. But in Azkaban, where no sunlight could possibly get past the mist, clouds, and lack of windows, no one could tell when they woke. Quirrell wasn't sure if he had slept the day away out of exhaustion or whether the stiff boards they called mattress made him wake up in the middle of the night.

Over the noise of the moans and mutterings of the prisoners, he could hear two other sane-sounding human voices, drawing closer and closer to his cell.

"Terrible, simply terrible. How all those Death Eaters managed to escape…we'll have to keep a closer eye on this place, no doubt Fudge's lack of security caused this…glad he's out…"

Fudge? Cornelius Fudge? Ah yes, he was murdered in his study... Quirrell wondered howlong the new minister would last. Rufus Scrimgeour was supposedly tough, after all he'd been Head of the Auror Office.

Peering out of his cell, Quirrell could see a group of three dementors, walking with none other than Gawain Robards, who was holding a clip board and making note of things.

With thick faded hair, Gawain was sporting a wavy combed back hairstyle, with a slightly faded black hair color with streaks of gray. He looked tired, with rings around his eyes, but it seemed not to bother him. He was slightly pudgy, probably caused by eating when stressed, and was dressed in many layers most likely due to the cold temperatures here.

"And I'm guessing you like Rufus, dad? I mean, for choosing you to succeed him in his old job?" A small voice said from behind him.

Stepping around from back of Robards came a rather small girl, around 5' 2". She had wavy hair, much like her dad, although hers was blonde. She had large light blue eyes which didn't have the same rings as her father. However, she did seem very pale and sickly, but strong. How odd, Quirrell didn't know Gawain was married and had children.

"Ah yes, fine man Rufus is. Oh course, I liked him even before he became Minister." Robards said fondly.

"I thought you said he was horrible for the ministry and you would be a better Head Auror?" The girl said, peering at her father.

At this Robards tightened up a bit. "I said nothing like that Katie, you're mistaken."

Quirrell rolled his eyes. Oh great, Ministry idiots always made his day just perfect. Still, the girl seemed young, maybe 15 or 16. Shouldn't she be at Hogwarts? Unless…he gulped. _He _couldn't have taken over Hogwarts already, could he have? But…You-Know-Who's plans normally took awhile to happen. Could Quirrell have been holding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back that much?

As if to answer his question, Gawain said "Now, isn't this much safer than Hogwarts? I mean, with You-Know-Who up and about, being surrounded by helpful dementors is much better, isn't it?"

The girl nodded but didn't seem to think it was better. Robards didn't notice.

So Quirrell hadn't been holding him back after all. He felt relieved. At least he had been useful…but what did he care? It's not like Voldemort actually cared about him!

The minute he thought the word Voldemort, tears of anger and sadness at his old friend's betrayal formed in his eyes. He'd been a fool, thinking they could still be together despite not being physically attached. Why hadn't he seen? Why didn't he believe what everyone said? Voldemort didn't _love. _He didn't have any use for _friends._

Quirrell bit back a sob, not wanting to appear weak in front of the dementors and the Head Auror. Instead, tears streamed freely down his face, as a mixture of emotions overtook him. He must have made some sort of small noise, a whimper or a wail, for the girl was suddenly grabbing at the bars of his cell and peering through.

"Are you alright?"

Quirrell started, looking at the girl in surprise, unaware that she had even walked over. He stared at her in amazement, completely dazed from all the commotion his clash of emotions was making in his head.

She stared back, a puzzled expression on her face, until her father suddenly yelped and ran over to pull her away from the cage, saying something about the danger of deranged lunatics and scolding her for not staying away from the cages.

Not exactly caring about the girl, or anything really, Quirrell crawled into the corner to restart his silent weeping. He cried for several hours, his noise setting of prisoners in the cages around him. No one came to check on them. No one seemed to care. In Azkaban, for a grown man to be sobbing so much was quiet normal, even sane.

Eyes red, head heavy, and body exhausted from all the grieving, Quirrell eventually drifted to sleep after his body ran out of water.

Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was a dementor floating over him, sucking something from him. His vision became obstructed by the wispy thing he was drinking, and he felt dizzy.

"Go ahead." He thought. "Take all my happy memories. They have been soiled by the one person who created them."

And with that, his head hit the floor.

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**I don't know if I made it clear, but Rufus used to be the Head Auror, and when he became Minister he gave the job to Gawain.**

**Gawain Robards is real.**

**The girl isn't. Well, as far as I know. They never mentioned in the books whether he had a family or not.**

**So I guess she's an OC?**

**Yeah, I guess….**


	3. Nightmares

_**Here you are. After a long time with no chapters, I have started writing again! Tomorrow there will hopefully be a second chapter up!**_

**Disclaimer: All the money in the world can't by the HP series. I know, I've tried. I don't own the musical or the series.**

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"_Ya know Quirrell…this was the best day ever…the rollerblading was so much fun…and that movie! Zefron was great!" His pale-skinned friend smiled at him and wrapped his palm around his hand._

_Quirrell squeezed the hand in return. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, man. Sorry I ever doubted you about...well, the ending plan."_

"_No Quirrell, it was my fault…I guess sometimes the whole take-over-the-world thing can be sort of time consuming…you lose track of things, even yourself sometimes." Voldemort laid his head on Quirrell's shoulder. "Do you forgive me?"_

"_Of course I do." Quirrell leaned down, and lips puckered as they drew closer and felt hot breath upon the-_

Eyes popped open to find nothing but darkness. An echo of the yelp that the old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had just emitted bounced off the walls of his cell and once again filled his ears. Coldness tried to overtake him, but his hot and sweaty skin resisted. Wait…sweaty?

Wide-eyed, Quirrell lifted up his arm and pulled back the torn sleeve. Indeed, his whole limb was burning up, as if he'd had a fever. But he knew better, especially after watching that scene in the Titanic.

Remembering the dream completely now, he sat up with a start and looked around the dark room, half expecting to see his old friend sitting next to him, prepared to share a kiss. Yet through the darkness he could see nothing but empty space, hear nothing but the moaning, mumbling, and screaming of the other prisoners and, after moving his arms through the cell, could feel nothing but air through his fingers.

Sitting back down, Quirrell grasped his head and held it between his hands. Calming down, he took a few deep breaths before suddenly realizing what this dream might have been trying to tell him.

"I-The Dark Lord- we aren't-I- he-" He sputtered, tumbling over his words as is tongue attempted to block out the words he desperately tried to figure out. "_Gay?!"_

Breaths became deeper and faster, as Quirrell started hyperventilating. It never thought there was anything quite wrong with homosexuality – he was quite okay with the idea, he just never thought he himself was...he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Though the realization shocked him, it made a lot of sense. As a young student, he'd never had a girlfriend, thinking he was too shy to talk to any of them. The truth was clear now, he'd just never been interested. And even at the Hogs Head on karaoke night with…You-Know-Who…they'd only hit on those two sisters after Quirrell was completely drunk, and even then he seemed not to care when they never picked up anyone. It was all just the fun in hitting on girls with _Him._

'That damn bastard!' Quirrell thought, slamming his hand against the cold stone floor. Digging up every curse he could remember, he began screaming them into the floor until he was out of breath and his throat was sore.

"I'm going crazy." He murmured, staring up at the cell's ice-coated ceiling. "I'm going crazy, and I think I'm gay. And it's all – his – fault." Quirrell glared blankly at the ceiling for awhile, before suddenly grabbing his head and forcing himself to think logically.

Okay, so perhaps it was just the fact that he was surrounded by prisoners going mad that was making him worry that he too was insane. Most likely that dream wasn't anything more than his imagination going wild in his longing for his old friend. No, he _didn't _mean longing like THAT! Shuddering, Quirrell wondered whether he actually did.

Deciding to dismiss it as a weird dream, Quirrell curled up and waited to either fall back asleep or for the dementors to bring the daily scraps of food called breakfast. The only way to really keep track of time was to wait to see how long it took between each of the three meals given, and the longest time between two of them was known as nighttime. Of course, it didn't help when sometimes the dementors would "forget" about lunch…or sometimes meals altogether. They liked to speed up death as best as they could…after one was dead, their soul could be sucked without penalty.

The dementors didn't come for a few more hours, most likely meaning Quirrell had woken in the middle of the night. Chewing slowly, Quirrell used all his effort to try and stay awake. He'd tried not to fall asleep when waiting for food, fearing another dream, but he didn't think he could do it for much longer. Azkaban's atmosphere, though not as bad as they say, did sap the strength and will pretty quickly. Most likely to stop any prisoners planning on breaking out.

Giving up hope on resisting, and wishing he had a potion for dreamless sleep, Quirrell leaned against the cell doors and closed his eyes. A voice from behind suddenly made him snap open his eyes. Turning around, he came face to face with the last person he wanted to see right now. And the person wasn't the worst part…it was how close they were, the fact that he could almost feel the cloak brush his tattered robes.

"Hello Quirrell." Voldemort's voice barely whispered. "Long time no see."

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**Btw, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Reading them actually made me want to keep this story going!**


	4. Contest

Hi guys!

I'm entered in a contest on facebook.

If you like this photo for me: ht tp :/ /w ww .f ac eb oo k. co m/ ph ot o. ph p? fb id =2 36 38 13 13 97 87 &s et =o .1 61 55 35 00 52 65 12 &t yp e= 1& th ea te r (You may have to like the page before it)

And I win, then I'll continue this fanfiction, to the end!

Thank you anyone who helps ^^


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